Remnants of Time
by bladeron123
Summary: Hogwarts is nothing like he'd though it be. Albus Potter enters his first year at Hogwarts with a sense of dread, Wizarding Britan is on the verge of collapse, his parents are getting divorced, and his brother wont talk to him because he's best friends with a Malfoy. Follow Albus and the rest of the Next Generation as they struggle with the unseen consequences of the Second War.


The next generation

Volume one

Remnants of Time

Semi cannon compliant

Keeps everything given in book 1-7 and will use some information released after, Mostly ignores Cursed Child.

Prologue

17 years A.F. (After the Fall)

The man struggled to his feet. Blood ran in flows across his face, the pain was excruciating. He struggled to withhold the scream longing to burst from his lungs. He had to move quickly.

The manor burned about him as he moved with lithe precision. The rich paintings, now only a garish mix of colors, dripped to the burning floor. Not for the first time the man wondered if he'd made the right decision. Surely, told himself every night before the veil of sleep, surely I found it for a purpose. He had no thought relating to the dangers, and, after all it had taken to find the relic he refused to let it go.

It had been the year of the fall when he found the key to its location, the greatest secret of the Rosewood line, confiscated in the reign of King James by the Roman Catholic Church, every Rosewood had wasted away before the quest, all but him, he finally found it. Now it seemed that it would be the death of him. He found that quite amusing, all rosewoods past and present died in their obsessive search for the source of all magic, how fitting that he should die now when he was so close to that long awaited answer. How fitting his last act would be to hide that precious, ethereal, object, which was the heart of his life. He breathed a sigh of relief when he closed his study doors behind him, he reached in his pocket and pulled out his wand, he bit back a wince as he cast a minor cutting curse. When he was done, he tossed the wand in distaste and set about drawing a protective sigil. It was a bad decision. He should never have kept the box, not after the war started. He sighed and crossed the room. The sigil would not last long.

He pulled the lock-box from the desk drawer, squeezed a couple drops of blood into the lock, and proceeded to open it. Inside was a small oaken cube crisscrossed here and there with some unknown metal. The man had reached down to grab it when he felt the prick of the knife at his neck. He slammed his head back pulled a knife from the desktop and slammed it into his attackers eye socket. Blood sprayed across his face. Without hesitation, he ripped the knife free and lodged it in the man's throat for safe measure. He sighed as he pulled the knife free once more. There was no time for remorse, grabbing the box he slammed through his office door and into the hall beyond. At the end of the corridor, he tossed the box through a broken window and turned back the opposite way. He took the steps to the foyer two and a time, he was at the doors when he felt it, a vile, pestilent, oppressive force. It threw him back and pinned him against the floor with invisible arms. Its owner soon followed garbed in a simple black robe.

"I wondered where you got off to?" the figure said.

The man gasped, and struggled to free himself. The figure laughed, clearly amused. He pushed again and struggled to his knees. The energy required cracked some of his ribs. The figure stepped back in haste; it was in that moment this the man realized that the figure was not alone.

"Hold him back." Two others grabbed his arms. "Now Peter, Peter, Peter, surly you knew that I would find you."

The figure was in front of him now, and he saw its face. "Fuck you, Malfoy"

Peter bit back a scream when the force ripped into him. Malfoy's magic had changed. "Now that," Malfoy grimaced at him. he could feel his lungs shutting down. "Is no way to talk to your superior, now is it."

His lungs were free, he took a breath, a long sharp breath, only for the pain to return tenfold, it ravaged his throat. He spat blood. "I don't know what you hope to accomplish," he winced "Dick" he added for the satisfaction.

Malfoy backhanded him, and he spat more blood. "I'm not in a playing mood Lord Rosewood," he leaned forward "the box, where is it?"

He spat in Malfoy's face. "Fuck You."

Malfoy grimaced and wiped his face and Peter felt the magic release. Malfoy turned to the others. "Go find it," he snapped, "leave him to me."

Peter look at Malfoy with disdain. "It sucks doesn't it Peter," Malfoy said turning back to him. "I mean let's face it none of this would be happening if not for you." Peter jumped as Malfoy caressed his shoulder. "Cause we all know," Malfoy grabbed his face and turned it, Malfoy's eyes pierced his. "you started all this, you were the one who gave him your sword after all, it's funny isn't it," the magic came back, peter screamed as it ripped gashes along his chest, bile filled his throat. "Now you have to face the consequences of your actions."

Malfoy slammed him to the ground. He was right, Peter knew that, but self-endangerment was at the heart of politics, and at the time, it seemed harmless to arm the boy who could become a potent ally. His chest was numb from the pain when one of the others returned, the box in hand. Malfoy took the box and stowed it in his robes. Peter saw that the flames from the upper floor had finally reached the stairs.

"How fitting, isn't it," he couldn't place the voice, the pain was too much. "Death by Fire."

He could not tell whether he was alone. Couldn't tell if Malfoy was gloating, or gone. All he knew was pain. The fire never reached him, only smoke, and by then he was too far-gone to care.


End file.
